


Broken Glass

by bearonthecouch



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003), Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Anniversary, Canonical Character Death, Family, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Mental Health Issues, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-20
Updated: 2019-02-20
Packaged: 2019-11-01 10:24:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17865533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bearonthecouch/pseuds/bearonthecouch
Summary: Some things you can't undo.#HyuroiWeek Day 7: Prompt: Futility





	Broken Glass

“You planning to share that or what?”

Roy glanced up at Maes, then back down at the bottle. He shook his head slightly, and Hughes sighed. He drummed his fingers on the top of the desk he was sitting on and then shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

Roy took a long pull of Maes's favorite whiskey, until his throat and his chest burned and tears stung his eyes. The glass bottle slammed against the table with enough force to shatter when he set it down. The shards dug into his bare hand.

“You gonna fix that?” Maes asked.

Roy sucked at the blood on his thumb and sunk deeper into his uncomfortable office chair. “Why bother?”

“You could do it in five seconds, Mustang. It'd be easier than sweeping up the glass.”

Roy didn't answer. Yes, he could repair the bottle with alchemy, but the alcohol and blood would still be spilled across the top of his desk, unable to be set right. Some things you can't undo. It's one of the first lessons he'd ever learned as an alchemist, and one he'd been intimately familiar with throughout his childhood, far before he knew what a transmutation circle was.

He pulled the slivers out of his palm and fingers, feeling their sharp sting. And with nothing left to drink, he couldn't do anything but stare at his reflection in the amber puddles spreading over the few papers he hadn't thrown onto the floor in his earlier fit.

“Roy, look at me.”

Hughes and Mustang both held their breath, waiting, while Roy tried to resist the pull of Maes's command and finally couldn't. His best friend looked worried and sad and almost a little disgusted, and Roy pulled in on himself and felt sick. He couldn't even apologize. Saying sorry sort of implied that you'd try to do better and he didn't know _how_.

“You really think I'd leave you, Roy.”

“You _did_.”

“I'm right here, aren't I?”

“I don't know,” Roy murmured, and the truth of that statement washed over him and filled him with terror. His breathing came in quick gasps, and his hand, still wet with blood, stained the chalk as he drew the circle in the space left behind after he sopped up the majority of the whiskey with his sleeve. “Maes, don't leave.” He babbled the words over and over again, and then he just _felt_ the plea, wordless and haunting. _Don't leave. Please stay. I need you._

He threw up onto the circle but he could still _see_ it, and he remembered the horror he'd felt the first time he'd seen it. “No, no, no...” _Maes, I can't. I need you. Help me._

Roy didn't know how to work the flow in the geometry he'd just sketched, even if he had the necessary material components, which he didn't. Whiskey and blood couldn't be broken down into ammonia and lime and sulfur and fluorine. And he'd been a State Alchemist too long not to feel instinctive revulsion at the idea of human transmutation.

“Maes, don't leave.” The words barely escaped his lips. He wasn't even certain he was breathing. “Maes, I need you.”

“Roy, I'm _right here_. I'm not going anywhere.”

“But you're dead!” Roy screamed. And he threw the largest remnant of the whiskey bottle across the room. It hit the carpet and didn't break, which only stoked his rage. “You're dead _and I need you_. You left me! You left me and then you _died,_ Maes, and _fuck_ , what were you doing?! Why didn't you _tell_ me?”

“Because you think you could've walked right in and saved everyone. Like in Ishval?”

“That isn't-”

“What you meant. I know. Roy. Listen.” Maes shook his head at the stubborn fire in Mustang's eyes. “ _Listen_ ,” he repeated, and Roy settled just enough. “Are you listening?” Roy slowly nodded. “This isn't your fault. It has nothing to do with you. I'm sorry for leaving you, I never meant to, it was... I don't know what it was. Shitty luck and an accident, but Roy, _I was calling you._ I needed you, too.”

“But-”

“I'm not saying that to make you feel guilty, Mustang, fuck. You're still not listening. I'm trying to tell you that _I didn't leave._ I won't leave. Not until you become Fuhrer. Maybe not even then.”

Roy held his breath and cried silent tears, and shook his head. “Ghosts aren't real, Hughes,” he finally insisted, voice breaking.

“I'm real. _We're_ real. Don't you believe me?”

“I don't know,” Roy repeated. And it killed him to say it, and he clawed for Maes, trying to make him _real_ , something solid enough to touch. But his fingers closed around nothing, and the conversation grew increasingly one-sided. He loved Maes, he needed him, but as the night progressed, the only thing Hughes could still do was fade away. Roy's head spun and the alcohol soaked into the wood of his desk, and the fabric of his uniform, and his blood-stained skin. And in the bright light of the morning, he was left alone.

Until Riza showed up, cleaned him up and drove him over to Gracia's. Hughes's wife smiled weakly, and five year old Elicia climbed into Roy's arms. “Tell me a story 'bout Daddy,” the little girl squealed, and Roy couldn't breathe and could barely shake his head.

“We're going to visit the grave,” Gracia said softly. “Please come with us, General.”

He didn't bother to correct her, tell her to call him Roy. It would take too much energy. He didn't even nod. “Yeah,” he gasped, voice hoarse and rough and did his breath still smell like vomit and whiskey? Riza squeezed his hand, and he felt a little bit steadier. “Yeah, I wanna see him.”

 


End file.
